


Who are you without him?

by SilkySatan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Any fandom - Freeform, Any ship - Freeform, Barely a fanfic, Drabble, I'm just sad, Interpret this as you will, M/M, No actual characters, No actual ship, POV Second Person, Sad, Stiles is sad?, i have no clue what this is, identity crisis, nothing - Freeform, stiles is sad, trigger warning?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6897982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkySatan/pseuds/SilkySatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is... a drabble? I guess? Drabble about an identity crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who are you without him?

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know what this is supposed to be. I wrote it a while ago with no real intention. It kind of works for Steter and I always write Steter so I made it Steter. It works for any ship or any fandom if you choose to interpret it that way. Written to hit home so don't read it if you get sad easily or something idk

You will clutch at your chest. You will retch into the toilet bowl and nothing will leave your empty stomach but acid, and it will burn in your throat. It will never stop burning. It burns on the way up and on the way out and for hours, days, weeks after; the memory of such raw emotion ripping at your esophagus will never leave you. Like you thought he never would. You will wipe at wet cheeks to no avail, tears replacing your fingers as quickly as you can wish they wouldn’t. Thoughts will race through your mind faster than you can even think them, where are they coming from, who are they coming from, who is in your head, who are you? Who are you without him? Why do you have to ask yourself so often, why can’t you get a straight answer? You will try to stand and you will fall back down, hands on the rim of the toilet, tears splashing into the water just inches from your face. Your back will ache, your knees will throb. You will want to take a shower and crawl into bed but you won’t even be able to summon the will to stand. Your breath will hurt with the urge to vomit. Your hands will sting from their numbing grip on the rim of the toilet. You will roll away from the toilet to curl up on the bathroom floor and you will not know who you are, who is in your house thinking your thoughts. The cool porcelain of the bathtub against your back will send chills up your spine and bring you back into the moment, no matter how hard you fight. You cannot escape your own life. You cannot escape your own sheer lack of identity, the inevitability of your own confusion and self-loathing. Even without him driving you towards it, the conclusion is inevitable: you fucking hate yourself. You barely know who you are. You barely know who to hate. Your tears will slide down your face and your neck and onto the frigid tile beneath you. You toes will start to ache from the cold. Where are your socks? Were you even wearing socks? Have you ever bought socks? Your feet will be so very cold. Your fingers will be like ice when you bring them to your cheeks to wipe the tears. The tears will have already dried. You will have fallen asleep on the bathroom floor again. You will have to get up and take a shower and go on living the life of this stranger. You will never know who you are without him. He will never come back to tell you.


End file.
